


John's Story ("The Metamorphosis")

by pallasite



Series: Behind the Gloves [6]
Category: Babylon 5, Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Autobiographical Elements, Backstory, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon Compliant, College, Developing telepathy, Discrimination, Fix-It, Gen, Psi Corps, Slice of Life, Teenagers, The Corps Was Right, The Psi Corps tag is mine, Worldbuilding, telepaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallasite/pseuds/pallasite
Summary: “I won’t lie to you,” Jefferson was saying, "it won’t be easy out there, on this side of the gloves.  The real world isn’t a children’s book.  Normals tolerate us when we’re useful to them, but they never truly accept us.”John nodded.Useful.  The book had shown all the ways that telepaths wereuseful.“You’re special, John.  You’re gifted.”He hoped he wasn’t making the mistake of his life.The prologue ofBehind the Glovesishere- please read!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What is this series? Where are the acknowledgements, table of contents and universe timelines? See [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10184558/chapters/22620590).
> 
> Like Andy and Kaia in their respective fics, John is also forced out of school when he develops telepathy. Andy was pushed out of the "normal world" with threats of violence, Kaia with threats of homelessness; John, too, begins life in the Corps when he is "pushed out" of his old life by a system of laws and policies made by normals, for normals.

_“We needed those generators last week!” shouted the man on the screen, standing against a backdrop of the desolate Martian desert. “Our colony needs power! Why didn’t Mr. Smith deliver them this morning?”_

_“I’m sorry,” replied a woman, shaking her head sullenly, her hands in the pockets of worker’s overalls. “Mr. Smith skipped town last night, and took our money with him.”_

_The man pounded his fist into a table. “If only we’d called Psi Corps! This never would have happened if we’d hired a commercial telepath to monitor the negotiations!”_

_“But where can we find one?” the woman asked. “Especially here, on Mars?”_

_A handsome young man materialized, smiling, in the middle of the screen, his brown hair perfectly slicked back, a cute dimple in his cheek. He wore a dark, classy business suit, black gloves and a psi insignia badge._

_“Look!” said the woman, pointing._

_“We’re everywhere for your convenience,”[1] said the young man. “Even on Mars, we’re only a call away.”_

_The older man shook his head. “But you’re so expensive!” he exclaimed. “Big companies hire telepaths. How can we afford one, in our small colony?”_

_“The Corps will always provide a telepath to monitor your negotiations, for any job big or small. The investment is worth it. Think – would you ever enter into an important agreement without a written contract?”_

_The normals shook their heads._

_“Of course not,” the male colonist said. “That would be foolish.”_

_The telepath nodded, with a slight grin. “And it’s foolish not to hire a commercial telepath.”_

_“You’re right,” said the woman, nodded. “Next time, we’ll do the right thing and call the Corps. We didn’t hire a telepath, and we got cheated. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”_

_An announcer’s voice came on. “This message is from the Ministry of Public Information, and the Psi Corps.”_

*****

2228\. New York City, Upper East Side.

            When John Travers was nine years old, his teacher assigned the students to do short presentations on what they wanted to be when they grew up.

            Melanie wanted to be a doctor, like her parents. Olivia wanted to join EarthForce and command a starship. Billy wanted to be a chef.

            As soon as John said “business telepath,” he knew it wasn’t the cool thing to say.

            The other children laughed at him.

            “Ms. Jones,” exclaimed Jacques, “he’s just fooling around! He wanted to be a superhero last week, and next week he’ll want to be a Narn!”

            Even the teacher laughed. “John, where did you get this idea?”

            His cheeks flushed. “I read about it,” he said, sheepishly. “In the library.”

            A few days before, he had run into a display of brightly-colored, illustrated booklets describing who telepaths were and what they did for a living. Some people grew up and got powers! he realized. How cool was that?

            The teacher hushed his giggling classmates. “This is a unit on careers. Even though John’s idea is unconventional, and more than a little unlikely, I think we can all learn from it.” She approved the project.

            The school librarian helped John find age-appropriate materials, mostly produced by the Corps. The more his friends teased him, the more determined he was to do a good job on the presentation.

            Even his older brother Marty laughed at him. “Johnny, I thought you wanted to be a soccer player.”

            “This is cooler.” John held up one of the pamphlets. “Some people grow up and get powers!”

            He thought of the children’s vids he and everyone watched, vids of Psi Cops chasing down dangerous telepath criminals and saving the day.[2] He’d never thought normals like him could grow up and get powers, too.

            “Johnny, don’t be stupid, you can’t just choose to be a telepath,” Marty scolded. “You have to be born that way. There’s a gene for it. Didn’t your teacher tell you that?”

            “That’s not true! It says here in this booklet that a lot of telepaths have normal parents. Even some Psi Cops have normal parents![3] Did you know that?”

            Marty rolled his eyes. “Johnny, you don’t want to be a telepath.” He pointed to the page.” “See? They go to separate schools. Boarding schools.”

            “Yeah! Where they teach them to use their powers!” The pictures in the booklet showed children taking exams and doing exercises to train their telepathic senses.[4] John had no idea what the children in the pictures were doing, but it fascinated him nonetheless. If he grew up to be a telepath, he imagined, he’d always know what other people were thinking! How cool would that be? He would always know when people were lying. He dreamed of becoming a really strong telepath. Psi Cops could take down bad guys with just a thought. That was even better than being a superhero – it was real.

            “You’d better not cross me,” John said, fingers to his temples, “I might turn into a telepath, and bwam!”

            Marty laughed and walked away, leaving John alone at his desk with the booklets.

            “I’ll show him,” John grumbled, and went back to work.

            On presentation day, John came into class with his illustrated report. His first sketch showed crudely drawn people standing around a table. One of the figures wore black gloves and a psi insignia badge.

            “This is a business meeting,” John told the class. “I’ll sell you 1,000 widgets!” was written above the figure on the left.

            John pointed. “The guy on the left is lying, and the telepath knows it, and she’s telling everyone.” He pointed. “She’s the one wearing gloves, because telepaths always wear gloves.”

            “Why?” asked Melanie.

            “I dunno, because they’re telepaths?” The booklets hadn’t explained that part.

            He flipped the page. A stick figure lay on the ground, surrounded by red squiggles. “This guy just got beaten up. He’s knocked out. His name is…” he looked around the class, “Jacques.”

            “Hey!”

            A stick figure in gloves stood next to “Jacques”. “And this is the telepath,” said John, pointing. “The police asked him to go through Jacques’s memories[5] to help find who beat him up. The telepath is telling the cops what the suspect looks like. But he can’t scan suspects, just victims.[6] That’s the law. The police have to find who did it on their own.”[7]

            “Well, who did it?” asked Carrie.

            “You did!”

            “What?!”

            Everyone laughed.

            John flipped the page to the next drawing, where he’d attempted a sketch of a court room. “In this picture, the police caught Carrie, and she’s on trial. Jacques has hired a telepath to prove he’s telling the truth that Carrie was the one who beat him up.”[8]

            “I did not!”

            “You’re going to prison, Carrie,” teased Billy.

            The final drawing showed a large pile of rocks, with arms and legs sticking out from underneath. “This is a landslide,” said John. “Sometimes mountains collapse, or there’s an earthquake and houses fall down. People are stuck under all the debris. Telepaths help find the missing people and get them out safely. They can feel people’s minds under all the rubble and tell the rescue workers where to dig.”[9]

            The class listened attentively.

            “Most people don’t think about telepaths very much,” concluded John, “but they’re very important. They use their powers to help everybody. They catch liars and cheaters, and keep everything fair. And sometimes they even help police catch bad guys, and save lives!”

            The teacher nodded approvingly, realizing how much work John had put into his project. John saw her smile and knew he was heading for an A.

            “I want to be a telepath, too!” said Melanie.

 

[1] _And Now for a Word_

[2] Normals watch the same vids about Psi Cops as kids in the Corps. Gregory Keyes, Deadly Relations – Bester Ascendant, p. 42

[3] For example, Deadly Relations, p. 95 gives Sandoval Bey’s background: “Bey’s father was Turkish, from the hill country, a poor boy who rose to political prominence. His mother had been the British ambassador to Turkey, and they had lived there until he was six, when his father was murdered by a political dissident. Thereafter, Bey had been raised in London, and had spent long summers with a grandfather who lived near Madrid. He had joined Psi Corps as a teen – Al really wasn’t sure exactly when or under what circumstances.” Se also Deadly Relations, p. 126, wherein all the other members of Bester’s team in Psi Cop training are laters, raised outside the Corps. (“'This is like a game of cops and blips, right?' 'A game of what?' Montoya asked. Al blinked. 'You never played Psi Cops and blips when you were little?' But all three were looking at him in puzzlement. Laters, every one. They had no idea what he was talking about.”)

[4] See Tim Dehass. “The Psi Corps and You!” /Babylon 5 #11/

[5] See _The Exercise of Vital Powers_ , wherein Lyta scans the victim to get a visual ID on the attacker. See also “The Psi Corps and You!” /Babylon 5 #11/

[6] _The Exercise of Vital Powers_ , “The Psi Corps and You!” /Babylon 5 #11/, _Dust to Dust_ , _In the Shadow of Z’Ha’Dum_

[7] _Id._

[8] _Rising Star_

[9] _The War Prayer_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While some telepaths like Kaia (and Alisa Beldon in _Legacies_ ) develop telepathy suddenly, others develop it more slowly. Telepaths on the strong end of the spectrum, if they are not born telepathic, are more likely to follow the "Alisa Beldon" pattern and pass out, though it deserves mention that most telepaths don't pass out when they manifest - Alisa Beldon is literally the only example in canon of this occurring.
> 
> Also, Footnote 9 is important. The Corps, like its predecessor the MRA, was set up by, and is overseen by, _normals_.

2237\. Nine years later.

            There were no telepaths in John’s family, all his screening tests had come back negative. By all indications, John’s fantasy would remain just that, and thus it came as more than a shock when strange things began to happen during John’s freshman year at Columbia University.

            It began with a series of weird coincidences. Though he dismissed it at first, after three weeks, he started to become unnerved.

            He would know what his friends were going to say a moment before they said it – trivial little details, nothing particularly significant, but always enough to make John wonder how he knew that.

            When a friend would tell a story or joke, he would know how it was going to end. Another time, a friend walked into his dorm room with, “Guess what?” and John knew exactly what was coming – his friend had gotten the off-campus job he’d applied for.

            John just looked up and asked, “What?”

            “I got the job at Cheryl’s Sandwich Shop.”

            “That’s great, Matt!”

            He didn’t know how to act surprised, but he could be positive and encouraging. And when Matt left, John went back to staring at his homework, confused.

 _Maybe this was just another coincidence. I knew Matt was applying for the job_ , John told himself, _so maybe I’m over-thinking this._

            His new ability wasn’t limited to his friends, and soon he observed similar incidents even with strangers. One Sunday, there came a knock on the dorm room door and John knew it was Xavier, his roommate Greg’s study partner, whom he had met only once – and who, it turned out, Greg wasn’t expecting. That same week, on Tuesday, John sat in one of the cafeterias on campus, eating his lunch, but found himself very distracted by the song stuck in the head of the girl sitting across from him. On Friday, he was trying to pay attention in South Asian Literature, but argh – did the girl behind him really have to be so upset about break up with her boyfriend right there and then, and in class? He turned around to look at her, but she wasn’t crying – she was trying really hard to hide her feelings, and John seemed to be the only one who noticed.

            John felt selfish for wishing she’d shut up already, but he found her emotions really damn distracting. Fifteen minutes into the class, John couldn’t take it anymore, stood up, and found a seat on the other side of the room.

            Three weeks into this – with no apparent end in sight – John was more than a little confused and frightened. He couldn’t be a telepath – he’d been screened. What had once seemed a fun childhood fantasy had suddenly become a frightening late adolescent reality. He didn’t want to tell anyone, but he didn’t know what was happening to him, either.

            As an experiment, he tried to do it on purpose, but failed every time. He relaxed – telepaths all had control over their powers. But when he was thinking about something else, not trying to do anything special at all – it would happen again.

            One Monday in early November, John noticed the sign on the subway, of a pretty young woman wearing a Psi Corps badge. She smiled sweetly next to text urging riders, if they suspect themselves or someone else of being a telepath, to contact the Corps.

 _We’re everywhere for your convenience!_ [1]

            The poster gave contact information and an address.

            So the next day, after classes, John went to the Psi Corps office. Maybe they could tell him what was going on with all this weird stuff he suddenly knew.

            The reception area was fairly large. He didn’t see any other normals – everyone wore black leather gloves. John felt really out of place and uncomfortable as he waited for his turn at the desk. He hoped he was doing the right thing, because the office gave him the creeps.

            Eventually he was called. “Can I help you, sir?” asked a pretty young lady, dressed like all the other staff, with a shiny psi insignia badge pinned to her chest.

            “Hi, um, yes, my name is John Travers, and I saw a sign on the train… look, this may sound silly, but I was wondering if you could help me get some answers? A lot of really unusual things have been happening to me lately.”

            “Do you suspect you may be a telepath, John?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “That’s okay, we’re here to help. Christa will have you set up to be tested.” She looked over towards a door leading further into the office, and another young lady looked up and waved. She came around the desk and over to John.

            “Hi, I’m Christa. If you’ll come this way, please.”

            “But I’ve been tested in school, and all the tests came back negative.”

            “That’s all right, sometimes people develop telepathy later, even if their tests were negative.”

            “Really?”

            John followed Christa through the door and down a corridor to a more private back room. There wasn’t much furniture, just a few chairs and a simple table. The walls were bare. John sat down.

            “Someone will be with you shortly,” said Christa, and she left.

            John waited another half hour before anyone came back, so he spent the time reading for class on his portable digital device. At least he had a quiet place to study. He felt vaguely like he was waiting in a doctor’s office, except he wasn’t sick, just nervous and confused. Was he making a big deal out of nothing? Maybe those incidents had been coincidences, after all. Maybe he was imagining things. He didn’t really know what he expected Psi Corps to do if he turned out to be a bit telepathic. What would that mean, anyway?

            At last, a man came in, with dark skin and very short hair, broadly built and muscular, wearing a black suit, and carrying a portable device like the one John was reading on.

            “John?” he asked. John nodded. “My name’s Jefferson.” He smiled, and John felt slightly less uneasy.

            “I’m not sure if I’m making something out of nothing,” John said, “but the last few weeks, things have just kept happening to me.”

            “What sorts of things?”

            John told him, in as much detail as he could remember. Jefferson took notes.

            “Do you have your identicard with you?”

            Jefferson entered John’s information into the portable device. “You’re not in our system, John. Is anyone in your family a telepath?”

            “No.”

            “Is anyone a latent telepath, perhaps? Someone registered with the Corps, but not in the Corps?”

            John shook his head.

            “Were you adopted?”

            “No…”

            Jefferson handed him back his card. “You’re eighteen?”

            “Yes. Is that a problem?”

            “Not at all. Most telepaths manifest during or after puberty, though we sometimes see as late as twenty-two or twenty-three, at the tail end of the adolescent period. Occasionally, we see even later – or much earlier. Eighteen isn’t unusual.”

            Uneasy, John suddenly jumped up to close the door. Then he turned around, confused, and looked back at Jefferson.

            “Very good,” Jefferson said absently, looking down at his device, “you can have a seat. That wasn’t officially part of the test.”

            “Why did I just do that?”

            “I asked you to.”

            “See, it’s like that, I’ll just react to something someone was thinking and–”

            “-Yes. It’s all right, I asked you to close the door. Now sit down, please.”

            The test itself was simple enough. John looked into Jefferson’s dark brown eyes and did his best to retell the stories of the last few weeks’ incidents. Occasionally, when he would get stuck, Jefferson would prompt him to elaborate on something. About five minutes later, Jefferson broke eye contact and made some more notes in his device.

            John took a deep breath. His mind buzzed, and he felt poked around in. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

            “Welcome to Psi Corps,” Jefferson said. “You’re a P3.”

            “I’m a telepath?”

            “A weak one, yes, but above the cut-off. P1s and P2s aren’t strong enough to be useful to the Corps, though we monitor them in case they manifest stronger abilities later.[2] You’re a P3 – you’re going to find that it’s more conscious for you when you finish developing.”

            John blinked at Jefferson, speechless.

            “John, you did the right thing coming in here today and getting tested. You’re going through some changes, and that will take some getting used to. A lot of things are going to change in your life.” He smiled. “But that’s what we’re here for. You’re not alone. We’ll help you get adjusted to your new life. We’re a family. The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father.”

            “Wait, what? I didn’t come here looking for a new family…”

            “All telepaths are a family, John.”

            “Are you sure about this? Could you be wrong? Can I get a second opinion?”

            “That won’t be necessary. I’ve been doing testing for fifteen years. Your case is very typical.”

            “But I’m not a telepath. I can’t be, I don’t have the gene.”

            “Thirty percent of us don’t.”[3]

            “But I thought-”

            “Pack your bags,” Jefferson said conclusively, and even cheerfully, “I’m sending you for training. Come back here Monday at 9 AM.”

            “I can’t just leave. I’m a student at Columbia. I have finals in a month–”

            “Not anymore, you don’t. You’re in the Corps now.”

            John’s eyes widened with horror. “What?! You can’t kick me out of school!” The booklets he’d read as a child had showed telepaths attending boarding schools as children, and training at special centers as adults, but they hadn’t said anything about telepaths being kicked out of college.

            “I’m not kicking you out of anything,” Jefferson replied smoothly. “I would never do that. That’s Columbia’s policy, not the Corps’. All universities are the same – they don’t allow telepaths to matriculate, at least not full telepaths.”[4] He gestured to John’s device. “Look it up for yourself, it’s all right there. This isn’t secret.”

            John felt a chill go through him, and a panic rising. “Then don’t send them your report!” he half-shouted. “I busted my ass for four years in high school to get into this school, and I haven’t even finished my first semester–”

            “We have to send the report, that’s the law.”

            John opened his mouth, but Jefferson cut him off. “-And before you ask, we didn’t make the telepath registration laws – the Senate passed those, generations ago.”[5]

            “You can’t do this!”

            Jefferson sighed. “There’s one other option, but I don’t think you’re going to like it. You could elect to take a certain telepathy-inhibiting drug,[6] which would allow you to live and work as a normal, but the drug can only be administered by weekly injection at your place of residence, once a week. I don’t recommend it.”

            “Those are my only options?”

            Jefferson nodded. “Well, that or go to prison, but neither of us is much in favor of that.”[7]

            “That’s not fair!”

            “Take it up with EarthGov. The Corps is a regulatory agency of EarthGov, you know.[8] We don’t make the rules. Director Johnston is a normal,[9] appointed by the Earth Alliance Senate[10] for life.[11] He reports to them.”[12]

            “I don’t know what to say. I don’t.”

            “No need to say anything, just be back here at 9 AM next Monday.”

 

[1] _And Now for a Word_

[2] Deadly Relations, p. 215 (Lyta’s mother was a P2, and the only woman in the last four generations in her family who wasn't in the Corps. The two prior generations were also telepaths, but they were in the MRA, the predecessor to the Corps.)

[3] Gregory Keyes, Dark Genesis, p. 46, 50, 60, Deadly Relations, p. 44

[4] Inference. See also _Eyes_ , wherein Harriman Grey mentions developing telepathy at seventeen and being kicked out of EarthForce and AirDome. Telepaths are not allowed to serve in this time period.

[5] Dark Genesis. Mandatory telepath registration began in the US in 2115. See also _Midnight on the Firing Line_.

[6] _Midnight on the Firing Line_ , _Legacies_

[7] _Midnight on the Firing Line_ , _Legacies_

[8] Dark Genesis, p. 50 ("'...which will be overseen by the MRA - which will, of course, all be overseen in turn by the Earth Alliance Senate'"); Gregory Keyes, Final Reckoning, p. 240 ("Yes, all of this was inevitable. Oh, his lawyers tried. Hadn't Bester been an appointed official of an organization created and overseen by the EA Senate? Had he really been doing anything more than implementing the policies of the Psi Corps, the president, EarthGov itself?")

[9] Dark Genesis, p. 89 ("Lee clasped his hands in front of him. 'Ms. Alexander, as an officer of the Metasensory Regulatory Authority, perhaps you're aware of the history of your organization more aware than someone outside of it. Did you study its charter?' 'Yes, Senator - it was required reading.' 'And who created the MRA?' 'The Earth Alliance, Senator.' 'More specifically.' 'The Senate.' 'You mean _this_ Senate?' 'Yes, Senator.' 'Hmm. My, my. And who oversees it?' 'The Senate.' ' _This_ Senate? You don't say? This whole time?' 'Yes, Senator.'"); Dark Genesis, p. 120 (President Robinson, to Lee Crawford: "I'd like you to resign from the Senate. ... The charter for Psi Corps calls for its administrator to be appointed for life, by the president [of the Earth Alliance]. I need you there. You have the know-how, the staff - you've been the MRA from the beginning."); Deadly Relations, p. 23 ("He had heard that the director of Psi Corps was always supposed to be a normal, appointed by the EA Senate."); Deadly Relations, p. 199 ("'I'll grant you that. What's your point?' 'My point is that the director is a mundane.' ' _Very_ good Brett. Perhaps that's because the Corps' charter states that the director will be assigned by the EA Senate and shall always be a normal?'")

See also Gregory Keyes, Final Reckoning, p. 244 ("No, Senator. _You_ come on. You want to pretend a century and a half of continual violence against telepaths never existed? Fine. You want to pretend that Psi Corps wasn't created by the EA Senate? Fine. You want to silence me, lock me away, maybe even kill me? Well and good. But you know the truth. In your hearts, all of you do. This isn't over. You've divided and conquered, scattered my people. And yet, they still wear the badges, don't they? They still have to report to be examined, don't they? They're still registered at birth, marked more certainly and permanently than anyone who ever wore an armband with a star - because that, at least, you could take off.")

[10] _Id._

[11] _Id._

[12] _Id._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted below, telepaths are not permitted to sit on juries. This is one of the many legal, civil and social rights normals took from telepaths in the early 22nd century. This project "dives deep" into these issues later.

            John went home and tried to pretend that the whole afternoon had never happened. He buried himself in a book for English class, and ate re-heated leftovers for dinner. The last thing he wanted to do was think about Psi Corps, or getting kicked out of school.

            What would he tell his parents?

            “Hey John,” asked his roommate, “you OK?”

            “Yeah, Greg, just tired,” John lied.

            When Greg left, John looked up the Columbia policy. He’d never even heard of a matriculation policy before. It didn’t take long to find. The document wasn’t very long: there was the expected statement about academic honesty (“we can kick you out for cheating”), and the expected statement about non-discrimination (oh how ironic, John now mused), and then sure enough, there it was, the statement that Columbia does not admit or enroll students who are manifested telepaths of any rating. According to the policy, students on the telepathy-suppressing drugs could enroll, but could not live on campus.

            Jefferson was telling the truth.

            John felt frantic, trapped. He didn’t sleep well that night. This wasn’t how his childhood dream had gone, not at all. It was supposed to be fun to develop telepathy, exciting. He never would have gone to the center and got tested if he knew it would have gotten him expelled.

            In the morning, he went to class, determined to keep his life as normal as he could for the last remaining days. But he spent the day in a fog, not noticing anyone around him – what they were saying or doing, let alone thinking.

            After his afternoon classes, he went to the office of his academic advisor. Maybe, he figured, there was a way to appeal. He waited for an hour outside the man’s office, fidgeting with a highlighter. He’d made it clear to him that it was an emergency, and he wasn’t leaving until they talked.

            At last his advisor’s meeting ended.

            “They’re kicking me out,” John said, feeling tears rising in his eyes. “I worked my ass off for four years in high school to get here. My parents and older brother went here. And now they’re kicking me out–”

            “Slow down, slow down. You getting expelled?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why? What happened?”

            “Oh hell… how should I know? That’s just the thing. One minute everything was fine, and then everything started to get all weird, and I wanted to know what the hell was happening to me, so I did the logical thing, and now I’m being expelled and I never even did anything wrong and it’s right there in the matriculation policy, only no one ever told me–”

            “John, I’m not following you.” His advisor wore an expression of concern on his face, and seemed worried John was having a mental breakdown.

            “I’m a telepath, OK? That’s what they told me yesterday at the Psi Corps office, and now I’m getting kicked out of school. Is there a way to appeal this?”

            The man’s eyes widened, but his new expression gave John an uneasy feeling. This wasn’t a good kind of understanding.

            “Oh… well, John, I think you need to step back here and think about this rationally. Columbia can’t have telepaths enrolled here.”

            “Wait, what? I thought maybe you could help me.”

            But his advisor’s mood had gone from concern to callous indifference, over righteous prickliness, over genuine fear. He was pretending to care, but he really didn’t want John even in the same room. He gave John a short, self-righteous speech about how telepaths, by merely existing, were a threat to academic honesty – indeed, to the whole notion of academia itself. Their presence threatened the basic fundamental notions of fairness and equality that Columbia stood for.

            _Fairness? Equality?_ John wanted to shout. He was being expelled when he had done no wrong. This was the polar opposite of either principle; this was absurdity of Orwellian proportions. He’d developed telepathy, not woken up as a giant roach.

            “Academia is based on honesty, you see,” the advisor was saying, “based on the principle of doing one’s own work, based on being rewarded for one’s own work–”

            “Are you calling me a cheater?” John interrupted after this had gone on for a few minutes. “I’ve never cheated on a test in my life, telepathically or any other way. Have I just been convicted of a crime I didn’t commit, and expelled for it?”

            “No, John, it’s not that… I believe you about yourself, personally… but see, it’s about telepaths in general. Columbia can’t know that everyone will be as honest as you, or frankly, that you will always stay that honest. There would be no way to hold you accountable, and we can’t take that chance. It’s not about you, John, it’s a very reasonable policy. In fact, it’s a necessary policy to the integrity of academia, that’s why every school has one. That’s why policies like this have been in place ever since telepaths were first registered, over a century ago. It’s the same reason telepaths aren’t allowed to sit on juries[1] – they could undercut the entire legal system. I’m sure you understand–”

            “This is bullshit,” John shot, getting very angry, and hardly believing his ears. “You’re supposed to be my advisor! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

            “John, you need to calm down.” Now his advisor was becoming even more scared, and he wanted him out of his office more than ever. He thought John was dangerous. “You need to take a few breaths and think about this rationally, do you understand? There’s no need to overreact.”

            “Overreact?!” John shouted, jumping up from his seat. “I’m being expelled!”

            He saw the man reach for his phone to call campus security.

            “OK, fine, I’ll leave you alone,” John said. He tossed up his hands. “And I’ll get out of here, since that’s what you want anyway.” As a side thought, he turned and added, “And I hope you and I never meet again.”

            He left the man’s office, slamming the door a little too loudly on the way out, with a satisfying _thud._

            “Advisor, my ass,” he muttered under his breath. “More like judge, jury and executioner.” He headed back to his room, hardly seeing anyone or anything he passed along the way. What was he going to tell his parents?

            “Wha’cha doing?” Greg asked, confused by the scatter of clothing all over the floor and the bed.

            “Packing.”

            “Where are you going?”

            John hesitated. “I’m dropping out,” he said.

            Greg looked at him with shock and confusion. “But you’re getting good grades. What happened?”

            “There’s been a family emergency,” John said, thinking on the fly. “I can’t stay here. I need to go home.”

            “Maybe you can take some time off and come back next semester–”

            “No,” John said definitively, but a little too harshly. He felt bad – this wasn’t Greg’s fault.

            “You wanna talk about it?” his roommate offered. “We can grab dinner. Maybe you can talk to your advisor, and they can work something out.”

            “No, I don’t want to talk about it, with you or anyone else. I just need to pack. Greg, do you know where I can get some shipping crates? I need to send this stuff home.”

            “Um, sure, I can help you with that…” Greg sat down. “John, you sure?”

            “Yes, completely sure. I just need to find these damn packing crates.”

            Once it was clear Greg had left for good, John collapsed on the bed and broke down in tears.

*****

            The next morning John was sitting in a large lecture hall, listening to his professor talk about the Great Classics of American Literature, when he felt a tap on the shoulder, and looked up to see a campus security officer.

            “John Travers?”

            “Yes?”

            “Come with me, please.”

            “What? Why? What is this about?”

            “Just come with me.”

            As John collected his belongings, he could feel the other students watching him with intense curiosity. He looked up to see Greg gawking from a few rows away.

            Damn.

            He let the officer lead him out.

            “I have instructions to bring you directly to the dean’s office,” the campus policeman said.

            “Why?”

            “I don’t know.”

            The dean, a plump, middle aged lady in a sharp suit, glared at John as he entered her office.

            “John Travers?”

            “Yes, Ma’am?”

            “I’m Dean Naicha. Have a seat.” She dismissed the security officer, who shut the door behind him. “I have a report here that you threatened your academic advisor with physical harm.”

            “What?!”

            “You heard me, John. Did this happen?”

            “Of course not!”

            Her stern look was unwavering. “Why would he lie about this? I have his report on file right here.” She tapped a device. “He says you came to see him in a highly agitated state, that your behavior was erratic, and that you threatened him. Have you been taking stims? Many freshmen start taking drugs to deal with the workload, we can get you into a treatment program–”

            “No, and no! This is… no!” Now they thought he was on drugs. How much worse could this get?

            “You say you didn’t threaten him. Are you sure?”

            “Yes, I’m sure. I got angry when he said he couldn’t help me. I said I never want to see him again.”

            “He says you said ‘we’d better not run into each other ever again’.”

            “Maybe I said that. But it’s not a threat. It’s just that I don’t ever want to see the man again.”

            “John,” the dean continued, “this is a serious charge. It could lead to disciplinary action.”

            “I’d like to see you try. I’m already expelled.”

            Her face wrinkled in confusion. She didn’t know.

            “You heard me. I’m not a student here anymore. Out on my ass. Look it up.” He gestured to her device. “What do you think I was fighting with my advisor about? I was kicked out yesterday, unless you haven’t processed the paperwork yet.”

            She became more confused, and more worried. “John, we don’t expel students overnight. We place students on probation, and conduct an investigation. As a student here, you have rights. Who told you that you were expelled?”

            John smirked. “Psi Corps?”

            All the blood drained from the dean’s face. After a few moments of open-mouthed gaping, she managed a small, weak, “Oh.” It took her a moment to regain her composure. “That doesn’t mean you’ve been expelled,” she said. “Expulsion is a disciplinary offense. Telepaths who join the Corps are simply required to withdraw. But there is another option. We have a handful of students here on suppression therapy. You would have to live off-campus, of course, but you could continue your studies here. They must have mentioned this at the Psi Corps office.”

            John nodded.

            “And as a student, you would then be entitled to a fair hearing on these charges.”

            Yet even as she offered him the choice, John could feel that it was pointless. There were no witnesses to the encounter – it would be his word against his advisor’s. Telepathy-suppressing drugs didn’t make anyone less violent, and his advisor was alleging that John had tried to attack him. Even if Dean Naicha sympathized with John and voted in his favor, the other two members of the committee, she knew, would never let a student stay on these charges, even as a first offense, if that student was also a telepath.

            John almost spoke up, but caught himself. No – if he told her he knew what she was thinking, he would only make things worse.

            “If you join the Corps,” she said, “you will be recorded as having withdrawn with a clean record. When do you have to notify the Corps of your decision?”

            “By Monday.”

            “Then you have until then to let us know.”

            He told her he would think it over, and left, angry. He didn’t want to go through a dog and pony show with his advisor, just so they could formally expel him. He was out now, one way or the other.

            What was he going to tell his parents?

            That afternoon, he found that his student identicard didn’t let him in the building anymore. He stood there kicking the glass, swearing.

            “Let me in, goddamn it! Someone let me in!” He almost broke down in tears. This had to have been his advisor’s doing, he decided, pulling in a favor for security to “accidentally” deactivate his card even before he’d had a hearing. Why was this happening to him? The dean had said he wasn’t expelled, but he still felt expelled. The world had suddenly and inexplicably shut him out.

            Eventually someone he knew walked down the stairs and opened the door. He thanked his acquaintance and hurried upstairs. Greg was home – and he had questions.

            “John, what was that in English class this morning?”

            “Oh, they hauled my ass off to the dean’s office.” John saw Greg had managed to find some packing crates. “I didn’t do what they said I did.”

            “What’d they say?”

            “My advisor said I threatened him, but I didn’t. I was just angry. It was nothing. It’s over.”

            “John, I’m worried. You’re not sleeping. You’re acting nervous. Are you on stims?”

            “The dean asked me the same thing.”

            “Well, you’re really… agitated.”

            “I told you, family emergency.”

            “Have you talked to a counselor?”

            John looked up at Greg with exasperation. “There’s nothing a counselor can do for me. As I said, I’m already expelled.”

            “You said you were withdrawing.”

            “Uh… yeah, I did, that’s right.”

            “John, what the hell is going on?”

            John collapsed on the bed. “I’m totally screwed, is what,” he said fatalistically, lying back and staring at the ceiling. “One day everything was fine, I was getting good grades, I was doing my school work and minding my own business, and the next, well… I didn’t lie about the family emergency – there sure as hell will be one when my parents find out about this.”

            Greg just stood there uncomprehending, just like John’s advisor and the dean. Why was everyone such an idiot?

            “I don’t get it. Why are they kicking you out?”

            Oh, screw it, it couldn’t get worse.

            “Because apparently I’m a telepath.”

            Greg’s eyes lit up. He pulled over a chair. “Really? That just happens to people?”

            “Apparently.”

            “You’re sure? How do you know?”

            “They tested me.”

            “Like the tests we had in school?”

            John nodded.

            “So all those other tests were wrong?”

            “No, they were right. I apparently didn’t develop it until now.”

            “Whoa.” He paused. “I thought telepaths were born that way.”

            “Not all.”

            “And Columbia is kicking you out?”

            “Yes, that’s their policy. Same as every other school.”

            There was silence. “So… what now?” Greg asked at last.

            “Now I pack, and they send me off for training.”

            Greg shook his head. “This is so strange. Telepaths are… well, I dunno, but they’re not like you. You’re… normal.”

            John wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. “I’m not sure how long that’s going to last,” he said, lying back on the bed again. “They said I’m ‘manifesting,’ that was the word they used.”

            “Sounds like a second puberty.”

            “…That’s one way to put it.”

            “Oh, man, that sucks.”

            John laughed.

 

[1] Deadly Relations, p, 62


	4. Chapter 4

            Greg agreed to ship John’s boxes, so he wouldn’t have to leave the dorm again and risk being locked out. He brought John some pizza. Meanwhile, John finished packing, when he wasn’t staring out the window, crying, and feeling sorry for himself. Finally he did what he always did when he needed to stop thinking about the real world – he pulled up a book and started reading. Metamorphosis. That fit.

            By suppertime the next day, Thursday, something else had changed. Greg came back to the room looking very sheepish and uncomfortable.

            “I’m going to stay in Sarah’s room tonight,” he said.

            John had a sinking feeling. Greg said nothing, and looked down at the floor.

            “Wait, wait, let me guess. You told your parents about my metamorphosis and they said they don’t want you bunking with a giant roach. Am I close?”

            “It’s not that. It’s that they… um.”

            “Didn’t your parents insist on your not rooming with Sarah?”

            “They said they trust us to do the moral thing. And it’s only until you make your decision.”

            John rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to hit Greg, or himself, with the electronic reader.

            “They’re really scared, OK? And they don’t want me taking any chances. When they heard that telepaths are not allowed to go to school here, they said that there must be something dangerous about you even if you don’t know it yet. They said that’s why telepaths wear gloves, because touching them is dangerous.”

            “Greg, you’ve lived with me for two, three months! Have I ever been dangerous?”

            “No, but you yourself said you’re going through changes–”

            “Not those kind of changes!”

            “Look… they don’t trust telepaths, OK? They’ve been going to this church recently where the preacher says telepaths aren’t fully human.”[1]

            “What?! Greg, I’ve had my DNA sequenced, and trust me, it’s fully human…”

            “My parents are stupid, and they go to a stupid church where the preacher says telepathy’s not right and natural and has something to do with the devil. It’s garbage. But they pay my tuition, and they said if I don’t move out, they’ll pull me out of school.”

            John just buried his face in his hands.

            “Look man… I’m sorry. I really am.”

            John swore.

            Greg hesitated. “I said I’m sorry, John.”

            “Just go away.”

            Greg stood there for a moment, unsure what to do, and finally left.

*****

            On Sunday, John called home. The thought of telling his family made him sick with fear, but he knew he didn’t have much choice.

            His mother answered the call, cheerful. “John! How are things?” She wiped her hands – she must have been painting.

            “Mom… there has been some bad news. We need to talk.”

            A frown. “What’s the matter, sweetie?”

            “I think you should sit down. This is really bad news.”

            She pulled over a chair and sat. “Are you sick? You look all right to me.”

            “No.”

            She asked if he’d been arrested, if he’d failed his exams, If he’d been robbed.

            “No, no. None of that.”

            “Then what’s the bad news?”

            John hesitated. “I’m being kicked out of school.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I’m a telepath.”

            There was a moment’s pause, and then started laughing. “John! You really had me going! Didn’t you give that up years ago?”

            John saw red. “No mom, I’m serious. I was tested on Monday. And Columbia has a policy against telepaths matriculating, so I’m gone. I already met with the dean.”

            “OK John, joke’s over-”

            “I’m not joking!” he shouted.

            John’s mother stared at him with that same dumbfounded confusion he had seen from everyone all week – professors and classmates alike. Once word had gotten around the dorm about what had happened to him, everyone had suddenly avoided him, and he thought he’d turned into a giant roach for real. He’d taken out his now useless school identicard and drawn antennae on his picture.

            “You can’t be a telepath,” she said. “There are no telepaths in the family. There must be some mistake.”

            “I don’t think so–”

            But his mother talked right over him. “I’m not giving any son of mine to Psi Corps. No way, I’ll have nothing of it. John, you come home right this minute.”

            “They’re sending me off for training tomorrow.”

            “No they’re not. Tell them the deal is off and come home right now.”

            “I don’t think this is a choice.”

            “They have to give you a choice. John, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. This is all very serious. Come home right now.”

            “No.”

            “John, don’t be stupid. Marty’s in law school, he’ll be able to find someone to help you.”

            “Mom–”

            “You heard me, John. You could be in a lot of danger. You don’t know what these people are capable of. I want you home this instant.”

            They argued some more, and John disconnected the call. Marty called two hours later.

            “Hey John… mom called me. What’s all this about, eh? You’re a what?”

            “A telepath.”

            “No way. I don’t believe it.”

            “Columbia believes it.”

            Marty told him he’d been doing some legal research.

            “For one, don’t listen to mom. You can’t come home right now. You have to go down to the office tomorrow and make your decision. You’re eighteen. If you were any younger, mom or dad could make the decision for you.”[2]

            “And just stick me on the drugs?”

            “Or just turn you over and walk away, which apparently some parents do.”

            “Wait, what?”

            Marty inundated him with descriptions of court cases and the contents of statutes.

            “…and did you know that you can’t sue Psi Corps because they’re an agency of EarthGov[3] and sovereign immunity applies?”

            “Marty!”

            “What have you got yourself into? They have their own schools, hospitals, prisons, even their own police force.[4] Psi Corps is legally like a cross between a regulatory agency and its own eff’in sovereign nation! Are you sure you want to be a part of that?”

            John buried his face in his hands.

*****

            John stayed up most of the night watching vids. He couldn’t run away and go home – Marty said his parents could be arrested for harboring a fugitive.[5] He had to go to the office in the morning and make his decision.

            He read up on what a P3 meant (apparently the ratings were more exponential than linear),[6] he researched the New York City training center for commercial telepaths, and considered his options.

            To hell with Columbia, he thought. Maybe they’d done him a favor – commercial telepaths led exciting lives, much more interesting than those of English Literature majors. He had powers now, didn’t he? Or at least, he would soon, right? He was going to do things that normals could only dream of. He could save lives and catch criminals like they had talked about in the booklets in school.

            Morning came, and John hailed a taxi.

            “Where to?”

            John gave him the address. The taxi driver turned around in his seat and gave John a double look over. “What you going there for, kid?”

            “What’s it to you?”

            “You’re not one of them mindf– telepaths, are you, kid?”

            “No, of course not,” he lied. “Do you see gloves and a psi badge? This is about my brother. Now you could please go?”

            After a pause, considering things, the driver started the groundcar. John squeezed his eyes shut and mentally swore to himself. This was going to be a long ride.

            “Your brother, eh? He’s one of them?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Happens, you know. I’ve heard all kinds of stories.”

            “I’m sure you have.”

            “Well, I’m glad you’re not one of them. Would never let one of them into my cab. Hell, no. I don’t trust ‘em. Never shake hands with a telepath. They’ll fry your brains right out. That’s why they have those gloves.”

            “…Thanks for the advice.”

            “You’d better watch yourself. I’ve seen it happen. Right before my eyes.”

            “I will.”

            The driver told stories the whole way there, most of which John didn’t believe, and all of which were dreadful.

            It took half an eternity to get to the office, and when they finally arrived, the driver wouldn’t help John take his luggage inside. John offered him a larger tip, but the man still refused, and left John standing on the sidewalk with three large packing crates and a duffle bag, exhausted. He wanted coffee. He wanted to punch the taxi driver in the face. He wanted to cry.

            Instead he just opened the office door and shouted to the people milling about the office, “Hey, can someone here help me with this stuff?” Then, as an afterthought he added, “I have an appointment with Jefferson! Nine o’clock!”

            He sounded like an idiot, he knew. There was just no way to avoid it. They were going to stare at him blankly, like everyone else had. They were going to have no goddamn clue what he was talking about.

            Instead, a couple of men came out and helped him with his crates. John gave them the blank look.

            “Uh, thanks for your help…” He tried to explain what had happened. “The taxi driver, he wouldn’t help me with my luggage. I tried to tip him extra–”

            “No problem, kid, we understand how it is.”

            “Uh… thanks. I really appreciate it. The name’s John.”

            “Get inside, son,” the man said with a smile, “we’ll take care of your boxes.”

            “Thanks… look, let me give you something for helping me out–”

            The man laughed. “Nonsense. Now get inside for your appointment.”

            So John entered the building, sat in the reception area, and waited to be called. Jefferson, when he arrived, seemed far too awake for 9 AM. He looked like he’d already had his morning jog and trip to the weight room. John felt half-dead.

            Jefferson sent John to the lab for a complete physical, and then met him back in his office, on the fourth floor.

            “For what it’s worth,” Jefferson began, “I’m sorry about the taxi driver.”

            “How do you know about that?”

            “You’ve been broadcasting it since the moment you walked in here. John, I’ve read your file. You grew up in the Upper East Side. You went to private school. You’ve never had to deal with bigots before, have you?”

            “…No. But I don’t like where this is going-”

            “I grew up poor. I got it left and right. The Corps’ not perfect, but at least around here they care about my P rating more than how my parents earned a living and how much money we had.”

            John hesitated.

            “I know you’re angry. I know you’re going through a lot of very difficult changes. But consider for a moment that things might not be so bleak. We’re gifted. We see and feel things that they never will. Maybe they’re jealous, and maybe that’s why they act like that. I know it hurts to be kicked out of school. But consider that maybe in all this, somehow, there’s a greater plan.”

            As Jefferson spoke, John’s anger melted, and he felt calm. The older man was treating John with kindness, not merely politeness. After the last week, John had almost forgotten the difference.

            An intensity burned behind Jefferson’s eyes, something that John couldn’t name.

            “And what’s the greater plan?” he asked.

            “I don’t know. But I do know you’ve been given a gift, and I’d hate to see you throw it away. You’re not going to un-ring the bell, John. Telepaths who try to… who take sleepers… I feel sorry for them. I think many of them feel sorry for themselves, too. Privilege is a tough thing to let go of.” Jefferson bit his lip for a moment. “I think that’s why they do it – to hold on to who they once thought they were, who they think they should be. It works out for some of them.” He shook his head. “Less so for others.”

            John said nothing. His head swam. There was that vague, buzzing feeling again.

 _Don’t kill yourself, John,_ Jefferson ‘cast, _not when you’re just starting to live_.

            There was the slightest mental touch, almost fatherly.

            John stared out the widow at the groundcars below, and thought about his parents. His mother had ordered him to come home.

            “You’re eighteen, it’s up to you.”

            “If I join the Corps, could I decide to take the drugs later on?”

            Jefferson shrugged. “You could, no one does…”

            John stood at the window and watched the city below, in silence. He thought about his childhood project. Somehow, against all odds, his number had come up, but nothing was as he’d expected.

            “I won’t lie to you,” Jefferson was saying, “it won’t be easy out there, on this side of the gloves. The real world isn’t a children’s book. Normals tolerate us when we’re useful to them, but they never truly accept us.”

            John nodded. _Useful._ The book had shown all the ways that telepaths were  useful.

            “You’re special, John. You’re gifted.”

            He hoped he wasn’t making the mistake of his life.

            “I’ll go,” he said.

 

[1] Some groups especially hate telepaths, for example “human purist” groups like the Adamists/Adamites. See Deadly Relations, p. 151, 227, 231, 232.

[2] Inference. In _Legacies_ , Alisa Beldon (conveniently) can make the choice herself because she is an unaccompanied orphan with no known living relatives, nor a legal guardian.

[3] The Corps is an agency of EarthGov. See Dark Genesis, see also [JMSNews, 1/25/94](http://www.jmsnews.com/msg.aspx?id=1-19335). (The reference to the Corps as an agency of EarthGov is part of a larger post about telepaths and the rules of evidence, a topic this project returns to in detail later.)

[4] Throughout.

[5] See _A Race Through Dark Places_ , Deadly Relations, p. 257

[6] Inference. See Final Reckoning, p. 212. If Bester is using this physics metaphor for telepathy, than telepathic strength must not be linear. ("There was an old exercise for picturing how gravity worked. You imagine space as a sheet of rubber, extending in all directions. You put a ball bearing on the sheet, and it creates a small dimple. You place a cannonball on the sheet, and it makes a large one. Place the ball bearing near enough to the cannonball, and it rolls down the large dimple to join the cannonball. The lesson is that mass warps space, and that the "attraction" of gravity is merely a by-product of that warping.

"Bester had long ago used that same visualization to think about telepathy, with the ball bearings and cannonballs and what-have-you representing minds. A normal made a tiny dimple, a P12 a deep one. But it was more complicated than that. The older a telepath got, the more experience he acquired, and the more he learned from his instincts, the stronger his telepathic gravity became and the more the plane of thought curved around him. The deeper his imprint became, so to speak.

"At the same time, he became more and more sensitive to other perturbations on the imaginary rubber sheet. Yes, real telepathy, the transfer of coherent ideas from one mind to another, depended upon proximity and, ideally, line of sight. But there were older senses that telepathy could engage, senses that worked below the level of rational thought.")


End file.
